Tick Tock, Goes the Clock
by BookWormsAreADyingRace
Summary: "Some people say that time is one's greatest weapon. Frozen, still, imprisoned forever." What if all Vlad wants is to die?


_A/N: All I can say in defence is… well, even I felt a little sad while writing this… :(_

_Disclaimer – I don't own Young Dracula_

Numbness. That was what enveloped his mind. Smoky tendrils of black mist reaching out and taking control of his own thoughts, own choices, own mind. He felt like he was encased in a block of ice, frozen, still, imprisoned in every way. He often wondered how long it had been since he had been able to make his own decisions, but he had lost track of time. How long had it been? Months? Weeks? It didn't matter to him anymore – what was the point? No-one was ever going to free him from this endless torture.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought that he was shackled in a room somewhere. She often visited him. Whispering taunts into his ear. Taunts about his family, Erin, even his own _life__. _He knew he should have listened to Bertrand, but he was sure he was doing it for the good of his people. How wrong could he have been?

His throat burned uncomfortably with hunger, and he could feel his eyes were bright red. Unable to speak his mind, he had found it easier to simply speak to his mind. He found comfort in those empty spaces, empty thoughts. Comfort. Something that he hadn't felt in what seemed like years.

He often wondered how someone could be so vehemently evil. Killing someone was one thing, but this? He would rather die this instant than go through anymore of this torture. He couldn't even look up without being ordered too, and his neck was craned in an awkward position. He had on and off temperatures, like he had a fever, and he even had bouts of nausea at times. But it was not the sickness that bothered him so much, it was the pure inability to do _anything. _At all. It was like his dark side being in control all over again, and it scared him. It scared him to death.

The clock next to him ticked incessantly, its constant noise was enough to drive him crazy, and it reverberated around his head again and again, until it enveloped his mind.

_Tick tock, goes the clock._

He smirked. He was sure he was going crazy, bit what did it matter? He was dead to the world anyway. Forgotten by his family, his friends – not that he had many. Erin. She could be dead by now for all he knew. He wondered how. How she died. Torn limb from limb, blood pooling down her paper white skin as the life drained from her crystal grey eyes. Her body limp, like a porcelain doll. He laughed out loud to himself. He couldn't seem to stop.

_Tick tock, goes the clock._

The door creaked open. It was her. Her. She glanced at him with an unconcealed look of sick delight. The smile vanished from his face. He kept still. His body lifeless for the puppeteer to master. It sickened him. He was nothing more than a…a _plaything._

She strutted over to him, waving something in her hand. She knelt down to his height, and reached her hand out to him. He couldn't move an inch. He shuddered as she trailed an ice cold hand down his cheek. He was trapped. Only his eyes could hold what he was feeling.

She spread her lips in a wide grin. Like a Cheshire cat. It unnerved him. She reached down, and placed her hand on his chest, smiling seductively. It was sick.

_Tick tock, goes the clock._

She spoke something. He froze. Well, not that he could do much else. It pressed on his mind, forcing his hand upwards to grab the object.

A stake.

Its silver tip gleamed in the dim candle light. He smiled. Perhaps this really was the end.

He grasped the stake tightly in his hands. They didn't have much room due to the shackles, but it was enough. He raised his hands. She smiled. He closed his eyes. She laughed.

As he brought his hands down towards his chest, time seemed to stop. Frozen, still, imprisoned in every way. He let out a laugh, a crazed unceasing sound that he couldn't control. His laughs were cut short when the wood met his chest. He choked. He felt wetness on his cheeks. As he sensed the end, he smiled.

Some say that time is one's greatest weapon.

Frozen, still, imprisoned in every way.

_Tick tock, goes the clock._


End file.
